Chivalry
by AmayaSora
Summary: "Your notions of chivalry are seriously flawed, you know that?" HPDM, oneshot, Hogwarts-era


**Hi there!**

**So, this is actually the very first Draco/Harry fic that I ever wrote. I didn't post it, though, because I just couldn't see them working out while they were at Hogwarts. But then, I came across the file on my flashdrive, and read it, and- I didn't hate it. I had somehow written a Hogwarts fic that I could actually believe! And after that, and significant work coming up with a satisfactory ending, I knew I couldn't justify not posting it any longer. And... here we are.**

**I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**-AmayaSora**

**_DISCLAIMER_: I don't own Harry, Draco, or any other part of JKR's wonderful Potter universe. And, I get absolutely no money from writing any of this, only personal satisfaction.**

. .. ... ... ... .. .**  
**

"Thanks, Professor Flitwick!" Harry Potter called as the Charms teacher exited to his office. Harry had stayed behind to ask about Vanishing Charms, a subject he never could grasp no matter how hard he tried.

Thankfully, this chat had given him enough information that Harry felt confident he could scrape at least a passing grade on the essay. Who knows, Hermione's editing might even bump his grade higher, he thought with a grin as he stacked his books in his hands.

The prospect of a good mark left him feeling very cheery, a slight spring in his step as he left the classroom. Those steps echoed around the deserted corridor; it seemed everyone had gone straight to lunch. That suited Harry just fine; the solitude gave him a chance to think. And he really did have a lot on his mind. Quidditch was coming up, the essays he needed to write for Charms, History of Magic, and Transfiguration, not to mention-

Suddenly, Harry tripped. His train of thought was abandoned as he lost his balance completely and tumbled to the ground, books and papers flying everywhere. His best quill floated lazily down to the spotless floor. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what he'd tripped over; he wasn't a clumsy person by any means. Harry straightened his glasses rather angrily before rising to his knees (it looked quite undignified sitting in a hallway flat on his backside) to collect his scattered belongings.

Just as he reached forward to retrieve a piece of parchment, he saw a flash of blue light as a hex shot over his head. Harry jumped up, wand ready, only to hear a shout and see the lean figure of Draco Malfoy sprinting away behind him.

"Damn, I just missed him!" lamented Ron as he made his way through the minefield of his friend's belongings. "Alright there, Harry?"

"Yeah, thanks, mate." Harry said fervently, returning his wand to his pocket. He vowed to pay more attention to his surroundings next time. Who knows what Malfoy would've done, if not for Ron. Harry would bet that some curse from his Slytherin enemy had been what caused him to fall in the first place, too.

As Ron helped Harry gather his stuff, the black-haired boy decided it would be a good idea to finally buy a new bag to carry his books, his old one having ripped out of the blue a week or so ago.

. .. ... ... ... .. .

A few days later, Harry wondered if the bag had been such a good idea after all. He tried, for the umpteenth time, to shove his textbook back into it, but to avail. He'd tried putting it in first, putting it in last, and putting it in somewhere in the middle, all with the increasingly frustrating result that something or other wouldn't fit.

The Gryffindor_ knew_ it was possible to fit everything; he'd done just fine with that up until now. Hermione, with her natural skill at geometry and the fact that she was a girl, would probably be able to do it, but she and Ron had gone ahead to lunch, at Harry's insistence that he'd catch up.

_At this rate, I'm lucky to even get to _dinner, he thought sourly as he once again completely unpacked his bag, slamming the inkwell down rather too hard, causing it to crack.

Harry heard a rustling sound to his right, and glanced over at Malfoy, who stood smirking, his own expensive bag draped rather carelessly over his shoulder.

"Shut it, Malfoy," spat Harry, after which he hastily muttered "_Reparo_" before any of the ink spilled out. Malfoy still hadn't moved, and Harry's fist clenched around his wand. He'd been stressed enough as it was; he was _so_ not in the mood for anything remotely Malfoy-related. There had been something _odd_ about that smirk, too. And with Malfoy, odd was never a good sign.

As if to prove this point, the Slytherin took a step toward Harry, who whirled around to face him, wand still in hand. Malfoy's eyes darted to Harry's wand, then back to his face. Neither boy moved, pale eyes searching green.

Suddenly, the door opened and both wizards turned to face it. George Weasley stood there, and seeing Harry's outstretched wand, raised his own.

Knowing he was outnumbered, Malfoy put his hands up and stepped backward, but although he as backing down there was no hint of submission in his manner. "Fine, Potter. See you at the match," he sneered as he swaggered past George and into the hallway.

"Little git," muttered George darkly. "Anyway, Harry, Oliver's holding an emergency practice session. You know how he gets." The last statement was accompanied by a roll of the eyes.

The Seeker nodded. "Alright. Just lemme get my stuff together."

"No need," said George with a smile. "I'll take care of it. Wood's having a conniption without you there."

"Thanks," Harry replied.

As he made his way down to the field, Harry couldn't help but notice how exhilarated he felt after his confrontation with Malfoy. It was uncanny, but Harry used the feeling to his advantage, and everyone agreed that he had never flown better.

After practice, George informed him, "By the way, Harry, you might want to be more careful next time you buy a bag. I had to expand that one slightly to get all your stuff to fit."

. .. ... ... ... .. .

The library was weirdly empty when Harry finally looked up from his nearly-finished Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. He'd been really concentrating on this one, so much so that the people who'd passed by him were indistinct blurs, no matter how close to the table they'd come. And some people did walk very close to the tables, close enough to jostle Harry's chair, anyway. All of those people had left hours ago, though, so Harry was alone now. Even Madam Pince was asleep, her face resting goofily on her bony hands. _It must be later than I thought,_ mused Harry with a small stretch of his sore shoulders. It probably hadn't been the best idea to put off this essay to the last minute (especially given how much he wanted to impress the teacher), but Harry had his priorities; Quidditch came first. It had been a great game, too, he thought with a smile. Everyone had played extraordinarily well, on Gryffindor, anyway. Malfoy's strategy of tailing Harry rather than searching for the Snitch himself hadn't been a good one. And the wind drown out all the disparaging comments he flung Harry's way, too. The point being, Harry had flown circles around Malfoy, and the team had won handily.

Smiling again, Harry returned his focus to his essay, rereading the last paragraph to regain his train of thought. Or, he tried to, anyway, but a flash of gold caught his eye, and, Seeker that he was, he automatically snapped his head up to the source, which turned out to be Draco Malfoy. He was standing in front of a nearby shelf, leaning back on it gently, and the lamplight's amber glow had mixed with his pale blond hair to cause the glint of gold.

_How extraordinary that it would do that,_ Harry thought suddenly. The Slytherin was perusing a book, the spine held in his palm as long fingers fanned out elegantly over the front cover. His arm formed a nice line at that angle, if Harry thought about it… actually, his whole _body_ formed a nice line. Malfoy's lean frame was well defined through the slim black trousers that hugged his legs and the tight, white school shirt. The sleeves were rolled up the elbows, and the Slytherin emerald-and-silver tie was undone, draped casually around the collar, which was unbuttoned. It was a different look than the one Harry was used to seeing; not as put-together.

Malfoy shifted his weight ever-so-slightly, and another burst of gold drew Harry's eyes back to Malfoy's hair. It was resting lightly, yet perfectly, in place, and out of nowhere Harry briefly wondered if it felt as soft as it looked…

At that moment, Malfoy looked up, and raised one eyebrow, arching it high, so it just barely brushed the strands of hair tickling his forehead, and Harry had the rather disconcerting urge to brush the locks away. "Yes, Potter? Can I help you?" Malfoy asked, in was that a _warm_ tone?

Harry flushed and quickly looked away. "No thanks, Malfoy." He tried, and failed, to put his usual malice into the name. Undeniably flustered, Harry hurriedly cleaned off his quill and began ordering his papers to make a hasty retreat.

Which was foiled when he realized that his notes weren't in his stack of papers. He rifled through them again, just to be sure, and then began to search through all the books and parchments around him. He needed the notes to write the final two inches of the essay.

Harry's flipping became more desperate as he became even more flustered, determined to leave as quickly as possible, because he kept remembering how Malfoy had looked in that lamplight and that they really were quite alone in the library.

That thought brought another blush to his cheeks as he frantically searched the table yet again. Suddenly he noticed two pale, thin, and surprisingly attractive hands on the tabletop opposite him. His eyes snapped up to find Malfoy's face, and he flushed a third time and immediately averted his eyes, but not before seeing Malfoy's lips quirk upward in a small smile.

"Are you sure you don't need help, Potter?"

"Uh, no, I-I'm fine. Just can't find my notes, really," Harry stammered to the table, unable to look at Malfoy's face.

"Generally," said Malfoy softly, mesmerizing Harry with his voice, which was dropped low and for once not tinged with hate, "when people lose things, they need help finding them."

"W-well," said Harry, drawing in a shaky breath. "I-I guess you could look around a bit, if you like." He tried for nonchalance, and failed miserably at it.

Malfoy slowly began to move around the table, one hand trailing along the tabletop, brushing lightly against the smooth surface. Harry gulped and shifted marginally away from the other boy, who merely smirked and continued his slow advance.

"Uh, the notes are for Defense- Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Harry, rather lamely, trying to break the tension that was building.

Malfoy didn't say anything in response. He'd reached the corner nearest Harry, and started to bend down, slowly, towards Harry's ear.

"Malfoy! There you are," came a loud voice, and the Slytherin immediately straightened.

"What is it, Blaise?" he drawled tiredly, addressing the speaker and not the small crowd of his Housemates trailing behind Zabini.

"We're off to the common room, thought you should come. Sev's in a bad mood tonight, for some reason…" It was then that he noticed Harry, and his eyes narrowed maliciously. _"Potter. _What a surprise."

Harry stiffened, and Malfoy stalked back around the table as he said "Yes, quite. Who knew he actually studied, all the good it does him."

It was a tame insult, especially coming from Malfoy, but no one apart from Harry seemed to have noticed, as they all cackled with laughter.

"What do you think, Draco? What hex should we use?" Pansy Parkinson purred.

Malfoy kicked something around on the ground, ostensibly thinking. He glanced over at Madam Pince, who had awoken at Zabini's original shout and was now eyeing the group warily. "He's really not worth a detention, Pansy. We could always send Sev up this way, though," he smirked mischievously and then led the way out of the library. "Night, Potter!" he called over his shoulder, and thinly veiled underneath the sneer was something else… Harry shook his head. No, he couldn't have heard that; he must be imagining it. _Gotta get more sleep, Harry,_ he told himself sharply.

He gave up finding his notes at this point; Hermione would let him borrow hers under the circumstances. He gathered his papers up into a pile, but was only half paying attention to what he was doing. His head was, unbelievably, still full of Malfoy. Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair as he stood up and slowly made his way to the door. Glancing down, he happened to find a sheet of parchment on the floor, which amazingly held his missing notes. He pocketed them, smiling, and hurried off to bed.

Despite his earlier vow, however, Harry hardly slept at all. At some point he realized that his smile had surprisingly little to do with the recovered notes, and a lot more than he was comfortable with to do with a certain blond-haired Slytherin, who would creep into his mind's eye whenever he closed his eyes…

. .. ... ... ... .. .

Potions class was going abysmally, as always. Harry pushed his bangs out of his face, pouring over his textbook. He needed to do well on this project to pass this term. It didn't help that he was exhausted; he hadn't slept well at all since that night in the library, since he kept forcing himself to awaken whenever visions of Malfoy would pop into his head. It also didn't help that the teen in question had set up at the table directly to Harry's left. Ron usually took that one, but he had skived off that day. Frankly, Harry couldn't blame him. Harry more than once had to wrench his gaze away from Malfoy; the blond's face was very expressive, and (Harry cursed his mind for the thought) looked undeniably attractive wearing a look of concentration as he meticulously measured ingredients, or one of triumph as the potion changed color or consistency correctly. The boy was a natural, how he stirred almost lazily, yet with-

Harry caught himself staring again and forced his eyes back to the book. He'd read the same line four times already.

Suddenly, Neville's cauldron on the table behind Harry began to spew copious amounts of thick white smoke. It billowed around Harry's workspace, obscuring his view of Malfoy. Harry gratefully took advantage of this to read the remaining ingredients.

Stifling a cough, Harry made his way over to the supply cabinet. Snape barely glanced up from his paper and cleared the smoke away with a flick of his wand. "Another zero for you, Longbottom," he sneered lazily.

Glaring at the top of the Potions Master's head, Harry almost didn't notice Malfoy walking towards him- no, the _cupboard,_ Harry said to himself forcefully. Malfoy walked with confidence, Harry noted, but there was also grace to it, and the robes swished about his legs in-

_Dammit!_ Harry swore silently and snatched his eyes away yet again, as, blushing, he decided it would be better not to pass close to Malfoy. So, he went around behind Neville's table, clapping his friend comfortingly on the back and smiling apologetically . Malfoy too had decided to return via the long way around Neville's station, so Harry quickly circled back to his own. A quick glance at the clock showed just how behind Harry was. He hurriedly dumped his chopped beetroots into the cauldron and began measuring out the powdered newt.

Fifty minutes later, a dumbfounded Harry was frantically stirring his potion, willing it to turn green before Snape arrived. He couldn't understand why it hadn't worked; he knew he had followed the instructions exactly… well, carefully, at any rate, once Malfoy's self-satisfied smirk for completing his draught left Harry's mind.

Snape stalked over, practically giddy (_or as happy as the man ever could get,_ thought Harry bitterly). He leaned over the cauldron and a badly-hidden smile accompanied the pronouncement: "You should have used more beetroot. How unfortunate, Potter."

Harry scowled at Snape as he made his way to Malfoy's table.

"Excellent work as usual, Draco," the Potions Master declared.

"Professor," Malfoy said. "It seems that Potter could use some remedial work. Perhaps a tutor?"

"Alas, Draco, I fear that no amount of remediation would help Potter. So little information penetrates that swollen head of his. You may throw away your extra beetroot when you leave," he added in a tone that suggested the beetroot mattered more to him than Harry.

_Extra beetroot?_ thought Harry, seething. _No one should have had extra beetroot...the slimy git must've stolen some of mine when he passed my desk!_ A tiny voice in the back of Harry's mind suggested that Harry was overplaying his anger. But, truthfully, the raven-haired teen didn't care. Anger towards Malfoy was normal, and normal was comforting. Certainly much moreso than the- Harry refused even to think it- he was feeling now. So Harry forced himself to dwell on the malevolent things Malfoy'd done to him in an attempt to chase away any lingering… well, not hate, he might be feeling.

He glared fiercely at the Slytherin boy, who Harry thought might have looked stricken for a split second before returning the stare, daring Harry to do something.

"Class dismissed," Snape said suddenly, offhand, as he swept out of the dungeon. At once the chatter started up as students exited the dungeon as fast as they could, Hermione deep in conversation with Parvati. No one noticed that Harry was still standing stock-still, or when Malfoy swaggered over to him.

"Potter, I-"

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry spat, slamming his book shut,

"No, actually, I don't believe I will," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Not until you hear me out."

"I have no patience for your gloating today, Malfoy," Harry hissed in a dangerously low, warning voice. Harry noticed that everyone had left the room, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get out of Malfoy's presence as quickly as possible, because his feelings that were _definitely_ not pure hate were returning full force. Desperate, he pushed Malfoy back and shoved past him into the pathway.

"Potter!" Malfoy snapped, grabbing the Gryffindor's shoulder. Harry felt a surge of electricity, a delicious tingling, shooting down his spine, emanating from the hand (with perfectly maintained fingernails) resting on his shoulder. Heat flooded his veins, and Harry realized with a jolt that none of this was unpleasant at all.

Harry stopped, but Draco didn't remove his hand. The Slytherin took a step closer, and Harry's breath caught. Malfoy smirked, a devilishly attractive look for him, Harry thought as he slowly turned around to face the other student, who still hadn't moved his hand.

"Harry," Draco whispered, and a pleasant shiver went up Harry's spine. Hearing his first name said like that, in Draco's rich drawling voice suddenly so full of emotion, was nearly too much for Harry to handle, and he gave up all pretenses of resisting.

The Gryffindor raised his eyes until they locked with Draco's, which were, intriguingly, silver; he'd never noticed that before. They were now a sultry, smoky shade. Draco smiled, seductively, and began to inch his hand up to Harry's neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, and more electricity.

Harry took a step closer, tentatively raising his own hand towards Draco's face. He was inches away, centimeters, and each second Harry was feeling more and more drawn by his former enemy, he wanted this more and more… millimeters to go, and Harry was trembling with anticipation.

_Creak_ went the door, and Harry whipped around faster than he thought possible, blushing scarlet. Malfoy's eyes flashed with anger, which was directed at one Hermione Granger, who'd come to see what was keeping Harry.

"Nosy little Mudblood bitch!" Malfoy snarled, advancing toward her.

"Leave her out of it, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, shoving him away. The blond, unprepared for the push, toppled to the floor.

"Whatever, Potter." He spat the name like a curse. "I don't need this," he pronounced, quite calmly, as he straightened his robes smartly and stalked from the room.

"H-Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned by his broken expression. Malfoy's remark about not needing this- really, what it meant was that Malfoy didn't need _him_, and it had really gotten to Harry. Hermione reached towards him, but he turned away. He didn't want to be touched right now, not after Malfoy and that electricity.

"I'm okay, Hermione."

"Al-alright. You shouldn't let him rile you up like that, though, Harry."

"Yeah," he said, a bit bitterly, returning to his Potions workbench to collect his belongings. "You can go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Hermione smiled at Harry's back and left quietly, pretending not to notice that Harry was crying.

. .. ... ... ... .. .

Clearly, something was bothering Harry, Hermione noticed with increasing amounts of concern. He was always preoccupied, to the point of frequently spacing out in classes. He picked at his food morosely, and dawdled as long as he could in the corridors between classes. And it had all started that day in Potions, with Malfoy.

But, Harry refused to talk about it. The one time she'd dared to bring it up he had snapped "Don't even mention that boy, Hermione," in a most uncharacteristic way. The witch had apologized, but had no idea what could have happened to make Harry like this.

Harry knew he was being a but moody lately, but he quite frankly didn't care. Who did Malfoy think he was, to toy with him like that? To make him feel all these confusing but exhilarating feelings, and to behave as he had in Potions, and then, suddenly, to studiously avoid him, sitting as far away from him as possible in class and then sprinting out as soon as the bell rang?

Most of all, Harry Potter was angry at himself, for actually going along with the little git, for believing him. And his stupid dreams where Draco smiled and touched Harry's neck and leaned in close and… _Damn it!_ Harry couldn't help it. He was hooked on Dra- _Malfoy_, Harry corrected himself firmly, and try as he might he couldn't get over it. And, traitorously, a part of him certainly didn't want to get over it; on the contrary, it wanted nothing more than to chase the Slytherin down and-

Harry slammed his hands into his pockets, forcefully, and continued his walk through the corridor. It was deserted, since class was in session, but he couldn't bring himself to go to Herbology and be in an enclosed space like that with Malfoy.

"Stupid Malfoy," he muttered angrily to no one, not caring that he was scuffing his shoes up something awful as he dragged his feet.

Harry was still absorbed in his thoughts as he began descending the staircase, so much so that he didn't notice the people sneaking up behind him until they shoved him, with all their might, down the staircase, which of course was the tallest one in the whole castle. He knew there was nothing he could do as he fell headlong toward the floor. He shut his eyes and braced for an impact. But it never came. He felt a pair of strong arms catch him and pull him against a warm chest. Harry was enveloped by the irresistibly appealing scent of mahogany, citrus, and a hint of vanilla.

He relaxed into the arms and the scent a bit, a soft smile pulling on his lips, when he heard an unmistakable voice. "You imbeciles!"

Harry jerked his eyes open to find them looking up at Draco Malfoy, whose silver eyes flashed, dangerous and beautiful like lightning. He followed the gaze to the middle of the staircase, where a confused Crabbe and Goyle stood.

"What do you think you are doing?" snapped Malfoy, clearly livid.

"You told us to shove him down the stairs, Malfoy."

"No, what I said was to_ trip_ him down a _few_ steps."

"What's the difference?" mumbled Goyle.

"The _difference_," said Malfoy icily, "is that I asked you to ruffle his feathers a bit. What you _did_ is attempted murder."

"Ain't that a little exaggerated?" Crabbe demanded, at which Harry snorted. He couldn't help it; he didn't think Crabbe knew a word as big as 'exaggerated'.

It seemed that Draco hadn't noticed he was still holding Harry until then. He recoiled, shoving Harry away. "You two, get out of my sight!" he snarled at Crabbe and Goyle, who dashed up the stairs and around the corner.

Malfoy himself took off down another hallway. "Hey, Malfoy!" Harry called after him. Now that they'd finally made contact again, Harry was determined to drag it out as long as possible, to begin to try to figure out what had been going through the boy's head, and why in the world he himself felt like he did. Malfoy made no move to stop, so Harry broke into a light jog after him. "Malfoy!" he called again, then, in desperation, "Draco!"

It was the use of his first name that stopped him. Harry managed to catch up, a little out of breath. His hair was ruffled, more than usual at any rate, his glasses were slightly askew, and his cheeks were flushed just the tiniest bit pink.

In two steps Draco crossed the gap and crashed his lips onto Harry's, who, despite being rather shocked, responded with abandon. He wrapped his arms around Draco's neck, and was pleased to find that, when he ran his fingers through it, the blond hair was as soft as down. Draco pulled the other boy impossibly closer, and Harry opened his mouth, allowing Draco's tongue to come inside, and Harry could think nothing except _he tastes delicious_.

They finally pulled apart, breathing hard. Harry panted "I thought you didn't need this."

A brief kiss, and then Malfoy replied, "Obviously, I was lying."

"Obviously," said Harry with a smirk, which was quickly claimed by Draco's mouth.

Silence, as they stood in the middle of the hallway, arms wrapped around each other. Suddenly something clicked in Harry's brain, he declared "Your notions of chivalry are seriously flawed, you know that?"

"I beg your pardon?" Malfoy drawled, quirking one eyebrow up in a sexy, aristocratic way.

"It doesn't really count if you cause the things you're saving me from. Tripping me in the hallway, shrinking my bag, stealing my notes, ruining my Potion…"

"Technically, you did the last one yourself," said Draco with a smirk. "But that's irrelevant. It worked, didn't it?"

"Not exactly. You never actually got around to the helping me bit."

"Again I say, irrelevant." Harry rolled his eyes. "How do the Muggles say it? 'It's the thought that counts'?"

"I'm not sure I agree with that actually."

"And why is that?"

"Well, if I were just stand here, thinking about snogging you senseless, nothing would really happen. But if I were to _act _on that..." Which Harry did, connecting his lips with Malfoy's again.

When he finally pulled away, a slightly breathless Draco replied, "I see your point."

**There you are. I simply adore this confident, assured, seductive Draco... ;)**


End file.
